


A Thousand Stinging Cuts

by DaniStormborn



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25800187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniStormborn/pseuds/DaniStormborn
Summary: Her hands clutched at the empty champagne flute she had downed earlier. She felt the harsh burn of tears in her eyes again. She saw Elena shooting her concerned glances out of the corner of her eye. God above, how had they come to this? How had they let themselves come to this?Most of all, she had been completely unaware up to then that you could both love and hate someone at the same time.Truly love and hate them.
Relationships: Rafe Adler/Original Female Character(s), Samuel Drake/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	A Thousand Stinging Cuts

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, just a little Rafe/OC action that's been plaguing me for weeks now. I fully intend on making this a larger body of work, but I don't know! I was writing this and it didn't feel like part of a larger piece. It felt more like a solo thing. So, I decided to make it a one-shot separate from the future, larger story that is Rafe and Yael. There is, of course, explicit sexual content, as well as hints of a toxic relationship. 
> 
> There is Yiddish included towards the end. I tried my best to get accurate translations, but by all means if I have gotten something wrong, then please! LET ME KNOW! 
> 
> Thanks guys! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> \-- DaniStormborn

* * *

_"What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way  
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you  
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way  
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you"_

_\-- "Wicked Game" by Chris Isaac_

She had a headache that clawed like a rabid beast at her temples. Her dress was too tight. Her shoes were beautiful but they pinched like a son of a bitch. The smell of the champagne bubbling in the flute she was holding caused her stomach to roil. She found herself irritated at everything – snappish without meaning to be. She wanted to leave, _ desperately _ , but knew Rafe wouldn’t be willing to leave so soon. He hadn’t rubbed elbows enough yet. He hadn’t flaunted his family money enough yet. He hadn’t  been seen  with _Nadine Ross_ enough yet. He hadn’t gotten what they came there for yet.

Bracing herself, she threw back her flute of champagne, downing it in one smooth swallow. She girded herself against the brief, rising swell of her dinner. The liquor hit her stomach and the feeling disappeared. The golden fizz calmed it, settling it back down into tepid waves. Where had they gone wrong, Rafe and her? At first, they had been perfect. Now . . . now, they were a pathetic shell of their past selves together.

“Now, don’t _you_ look like a woman whose fighting off one _hell_ of a demon?”

She turned a tight smile on the man who moved to join her, melting out of the crowd like a shadow. A smirk was on his face, and she rolled her eyes. “I suppose you can say that.”

He tsked, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t. After all, you have everything you could have ever wanted! Why worry about anything?”

“Now _that’s_ where you’re wrong, Sam!” She muttered.  Her gaze bore holes into Rafe and Nadine where they stood conversing with a high ranking Consiglieri of the La Cosa Nostra  . Sam Drake followed her line of sight and his smirk deepened. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his suit trousers. Leaning towards her  conspiratorially , his voice lowered into a dramatic stage whisper.

“If you want, we can go fuck in the wine closet. No one’s looking.”

“ _Samuel Drake_!” Yael Adler gasped out. Her black gloved hand collided with his chest as a fiery blush bloomed across her cheeks. His smirk turned upwards into a grin.

“ _What_? If Rafe is too stupid to pay any attention to his criminally beautiful wife, then I’ll happily step up to the plate! I mean, come on . . .” He gave a shrug and stepped closer to her. An eyebrow quirked as a hand shot out and wrapped around her forearm. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into her flesh through her glove. His voice lowered, adopting an intimate tone that dripped like honey. It wrapped around her bones like silk. “Look around! No one would notice you missing for thirty minutes!” His brow quirked upwards, smug. "Come on, Yael! I'll get you off a couple times, we'll come back in, assimilate. It'd be like nothing ever happened!"

“That long? That’s a little bit longer than normal for you, isn’t it, Sam?” She asked with an upturned brow and a smirk, and he recoiled.

“ _Oh_ , you _minx_ ! Gonna have to spank you for that later.” He spoke, his eyes glittering in amusement. She laughed, wanting very  desperately  to disappear into that wine closet with him. But as always, she felt guilt flood her. This wasn’t new. She had lived with guilt as a constant part of her life since the day she met Rafe. Since the day she managed to bring herself to accept the fact that she loved him.

Rafe had been _issurei bi'ah_. Forbidden. But she had loved him. So, she ended up marrying him. She had given up everything for him: her family, her religion -- of which she had found so much solace and peace in.

Sam Drake was _issurei bi'ah_ on two accounts. He wasn't Jewish, nor was he her husband. He too, like Rafe,  was forbidden . She didn’t love him, neither. But he was fun. So, she kept him around.

It had taken her a long time to realize that she liked and wanted what was  frequently  denied to her. Most of the time, she could live with the guilt. Lately, though . . . lately, though, it was becoming more difficult. It started to gnaw a little harder than it usually did.

She felt a prickling feeling on the skin of her back. She glanced over her shoulder to find Rafe glaring daggers at the two of them. Sam followed her gaze and released a disappointed sound as his hand released her. She immediately missed the warmth of his hand on her arm. “Never mind, then. We’ll have to call a rain-check on that wine closet. And that spanking." His brows rose. "It seems that you’re  being beckoned .”

Nadine had disappeared from Rafe’s side – melting away into the crowd surrounding them. Rafe continued to laugh alongside the Consiglieri as he beckoned Yael over. The gesture was subtle. Casual.  From over the loudspeakers, a woman with a sultry French accent announced the auction would be starting in five minutes . Glancing at Sam, she smiled. “It’s fine. We’ll meet later, right?” She asked, and Sam Drake nodded. He cocked a brow.

“You found the spare key to my room, right?”

Her smile softened. She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Ingenious hiding spot, by the way. I almost didn’t find it in the _coffeemaker_!”

Sam grinned as she adopted a tight smile and made her way towards Rafe. She left Sam’s presence for that of the man she married. The man she had sacrificed everything for. She couldn’t help but feel an anxious ball of snakes knot together in her stomach. It was time, then. Time for Rafe to flash his money around while she stood like an exotic, glittering ruby on his arm. She had started out as his partner. His equal in everything intellectual and social. Now she was his trophy wife. When had that happened?

“Ah, here she is! Monseigneur Greco, may I introduce my wife, Yael. Yael, this is the Monseigneur Benicio Greco of the --!”

“Monseigneur Benicio Greco of the Greco _cosca_ from . . . Ciaculli, correct?” Yael spoke, in near perfect Italian, interrupting her husband mid-sentence. She held out her hand to him as she spoke, and the Monseigneur’s brows rose, surprised. Her eyebrows arched. “We spoke on the phone not too long ago, yes?”

The Monseigneur glanced at Rafe. The younger man adopted a serene smile as his hand moved to rest on the small of her back. Seeing this, the Consiglieri turned his attention back onto Yael. Taking up her hand, he brushed his lips against the knuckles. He replied in  heavily  accented English, hardly able to take his gaze away from her. “Why . . . _yes_ , we did! It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance at last, Signora Adler! To finally put a name to your face . . .!” He sent a genial beam Rafe’s way. It was a beam that told him how very lucky he was to have a wife like her.  A wife who actually _bothered_ to learn the names and nationalities of her husband’s closest or _would be_ closest business associates  . “And what a _lovely_ face it is! You are a very lucky man, Rafe! I have not been so lucky to meet such a lovely woman in good while!”

Yael continued to stand there and smile as she felt Rafe’s gaze dart over her for the first time that evening. She had spent months choosing the dress. It was a striking sapphire blue silk sheath number with a glittering diamond overlay. The rich color of the gown made the flawless white of her skin shine. It made the great wealth of her ebony curls appear an almost blue-black. A necklace of platinum and sapphires hung around her neck. On her black gloved wrist glittered a bracelet of heavy, glittering sterling silver. It curled around her wrist in the form of a serpent.

There would have been a time not so very long ago that Rafe would have been completely unable to take his eyes off of her. All evening, she would have walked through the crowd with cheeks inflamed.  Constantly  , his gaze would linger on the way the gown clung like water to her hips and ass. He would find her, wrap his arm around her waist, and pull her against him. He would whisper in her ear what _exactly_ he was going to do her when they got back to their hotel room. Later, in the elevator, he would have her body burning before they even reached their floor. Now, she was lucky if she fetched even a cursory glance from him.

“Yes, Monseigneur.” Rafe spoke after a moment. He had  carefully  schooled his tone before speaking. Although, if she focused hard enough, she fancied she could hear a slight wistfulness to it. Wistfulness and pride. “I am a _very_ lucky man.”

The woman with the French accent reappeared over the loudspeaker. She informed them that the auction was beginning and for them to please take their places. The Consiglieri took the time to brush his lips over her knuckles one last time. He then  politely  excused himself before melting off into the crowd. Rafe’s hand remained on the small of her back as they moved closer to the stage -- guiding her. To the left of them she saw Sam standing with Nate. To the right, she saw Elena and  Sully . She could find Nadine nowhere.

Her gaze crossed  briefly  with Sam’s and her thoughts once more lingered on the wine closet. On what could have been.

_Forbidden_.

“You do look stunning tonight.” Rafe spoke, his voice still kept  carefully  even. “I’m sorry, Yael. I neglected to tell you that before we left.”

The auctioneer stepped up to the podium. He was a dapper looking gentleman with spectacles and a thick head of snow white hair. Addressing the crowd through the microphone, he introduced the first item. It was a stunning gold and lapis lazuli pendant dated back to the Middle Kingdom of Egypt. They ignored him. What they were there for – the Cross of St. Dismas -- was third on the block.

“It’s quite alright, Rafe.” She spoke, her tone cool. She glanced at him before returning her eyes to the front. “You were too busy mooning over Nadine to take notice of what I was wearing. It surprised me, if I’m being honest. I figured you would have been scrutinizing what your money paid for.”

The words speared her heart like a lance as soon as she spoke them. She immediately regretted them. They had clawed their way forth from her mouth like shards of glass. They tore her throat to bloody ribbons on their way up. By the way he stiffened beside her, she could tell they had hit him  just  as hard. More-so than they had her. Tears rose in her eyes. She regretted them. Then again, she was sure they both regretted a lot of things they said to each other over the years.  Just  add one more snide comment to the towering pile of bitchiness and assholery. At this point in their marriage, needling was almost as instinctive as breathing. Their own twisted form of foreplay. Even on the good days – _perfect_ days where everything seemed to go great – they would still somehow fuck it up. Not immediately, though. Most likely at the end of the night. They would be sitting across from each other at dinner. Gazes locking over flattering, intimate candlelight, laughing and grinning like they used to.

Reminiscing. Lazing about in the past – in the better years.

After a while, their conversation would die down. They would find themselves in a comfortable, albeit palpable silence. Eventually, Rafe would give her a look smoldering with desire and promise. His hand would appear on her thigh. It would slip up beneath her dress to toy with the buckle of her garter. A touch full of promise and desire. She would suddenly feel lightheaded and warm. Her heart would jackrabbit in her chest. She’d remember what it was like going to bed with him. Her heart would bleed for him the same moment her body would ache for him. She remembered what it felt like to have him deep inside her – impossibly, _throbbingly _deep. She would remember how intoxicating how forbidden he was. How _forbidden_ he was supposed to be. She imagined taking his hand from her leg and guiding it to the heat between her thighs. Her invitation for him to join her in bed that night would be dancing on the very tip of her tongue. Hovering there as her own form of promise and desire.

But then something would _always_ happen to shatter the moment.

The waiter would do something wrong. Rafe would get a call from someone having a problem. Sam or Nathan calling with an issue. It didn't matter. As soon as it happened, all that heady emotion would melt away like it had been nothing more but a dream. A sickening, cruel dream.

Then they’d be back to normal. It would take no time at all before they were clawing each other’s eyes out while screaming at each other. Fighting. Accusing. She would throw something, a vase  maybe . In retaliation, Rafe would punch a wall before leaving in a huff. It all resulted in them being horrid, terrible people to each other.

She blinked back the tears and glanced up at him. He was standing beside her, his jaw tight, and was making a great effort to keep his gaze trained away from her. His hand was like ice on her back, threatening to freeze her solid. She swallowed hard and shook her head. She felt the sudden, overwhelming need to apologize for what she said. To apologize for _everything_ she had ever done or said to hurt him!

How many times had she fucked Sam in random hotel rooms while thinking of his best friend? How many times had he fucked her, oblivious to how she pretended he was Rafe? How many times had she come with Rafe’s name on her lips, only to catch it and smother it to a quick death? How many times had she gone to Sam knowing full well she did not love him? Knowing  just  as well that he was nothing but a _substitute_ \-- a pale imitation. The allure of the forbidden in their relationship was a pathetic, weak, mewling thing. It paled in comparison to what she had felt with Rafe. Still,  sickeningly , she craved it all the same.

( _How many had the same happened to him? Rafe had long since lost count_.)

“Rafe, I’m --!”

“Save it.” He interrupted her, his tone scathing. His gaze darted away and for a moment, the briefest of moments, she thought she caught them covered in a wet sheen. His hand curled around her hip, squeezing her so hard she winced. His jaw tightened. He looked inches away from losing it. Not with anger, though. The realization almost made her sob. How deep had she cut him, then? “Goddamn, Yael, just _save it_!”

She nodded and returned her gaze to the front. Her hands clutched at the empty champagne flute she had downed earlier. She felt the harsh burn of tears in her eyes again. She saw Elena shooting her concerned glances out of the corner of her eye. God above, how had they come to this? How had they _let_ themselves come to this?

Most of all, she had been completely unaware up to then that you could both love and hate someone at the same time.

_Truly _love and hate them.

* * *

The ride back to the hotel had been nothing short of torture. Waterboarding, Chinese Water Torture, bamboo shoots beneath the fingernails. None of it could have compared to the icy freeze Rafe and Yael had constructed between them. They sat on opposite sides of the car. The space between them a yawning, impregnable chasm akin to the Grand Canyon. Behind them, Nate, Elena,  Sully , and Sam were taking their own car back. Their friends had long since grown weary of living through their Ice Ages. Especially if they were in a confined space with no opportunities of escape.

When they returned to the hotel, Rafe took off for the hotel bar, leaving silence looming in the wake of him. Sam cast them all a reassuring look before taking off after him. Elena made sure she was fine and made her promise to text her if she needed anything. When her friend  was satisfied  , Elena and Nate excused themselves for their own room. Yael, meanwhile, returned alone and in silence to hers and Rafe’s. She loved Elena. She was her best friend since university. She would never stoop to feeling jealous of the loving marriage between her and Nate. But she could _yearn_ for it. She could _wish_ and _pray_ for it.

When she got back to their room, she didn't bother to turn on the lights for a moment. She sat there for a moment in the dark on the king sized bed in the bedroom, mired deep in her own churning thoughts. She stared at the ruby engagement ring and gold wedding band that encircled her ring finger. Tiring of the darkness, she rose and turned on the lights. She twirled the bands as she thought and wondered.  Once again, she wondered how they could have allowed their marriage to deteriorate so  badly  . At first, she had lay blame on the baby she had lost. Their precious boy. The child they had tried so hard for but then had lost so  suddenly  in an agonizing torrent of blood and salt. She had blamed the dissolution of their marriage on Rafe being unable to deal with the grief. Now, she wasn’t so sure. They had both changed so much over the years . . .  maybe  losing their son was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.

Or  maybe  he had ended up blaming her like she did. At first, she had blamed God, but now she couldn’t help but blame herself.  Maybe  their son  was taken  from them as retribution for their sins. For _her_ sin to fall in love and marry a Gentile against the wishes of her family and the doctrine of her religion. Despite how much she had loved him. She didn’t like to think God was as cruel as that, but decades of Rabbis saying otherwise was hard schooling to break.

After a moment, she drug herself from her thoughts. She stood and wandered over to the vanity tucked into the corner by the opened doors leading to the balcony. Through them, a warm breeze blew in, carrying on it the heady scent of the Mediterranean. She removed the bracelet dangling from her wrist before removing her gloves. She hadn’t heard the door open, and  was surprised  when she glanced over her shoulder and saw Rafe. The sight of him bewildered her for a moment. She must have sat on the bed and daydreamed for longer than she thought she had.

Rafe,  similarly  , hadn’t expected to still find her there, either. Upon entering the bedroom, he froze, like a deer caught in headlights. After a moment, he seemed to collect himself and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to still find you here. I thought . . .” He trailed off, the words “With Sam” bubbling up but dying on his tongue. He  suddenly  felt exhausted. He had long grown exhausted of all the fighting. It exhausted him, them throwing hurtful words at each other like spears aimed to wound or maim.

Yael shrugged as she gathered up her wealth of ebony curls over her left shoulder. She reached behind her to undo the clasp of her necklace. This she removed and placed on the vanity beside the bracelet. “I sat down on the bed when I got back, thinking, and must have daydreamed for a little bit longer than I intended.” She answered him. He hesitated for a moment before gesturing towards her.

“You . . . want me to get that for you?”

She had been trying to reach behind her to grasp the zipper of her dress as she spoke, and failing  miserably  . Mollified, she nodded and moved to cross her hands over her breasts as he approached. Standing so close, she could smell him. He smelled of expensive Ralph Polo cologne and clean cotton. Her head swam as one of his hands grasped her hip to steady her while the other took hold of the zipper. It might have been her imagination, but he seemed to draw the zipper down  entirely  too slow. It was almost as if he was relishing the act of undressing her for the first time in, what . . . months? _Years_? When was the last they had sex? Neither, with bewilderment, could remember.

_ Maybe _ _he is_ . . . She thought, her heart beating faster at the thought.

He proved her suspicion correct when the zipper reached the end of its path. The dress fell open the back while the front  was kept  up by her hands holding it to her chest. She wore lingerie underneath that matched the dress. A dark sapphire blue with silver filigree bra with matching panties. She had worn it for Sam. Upon hearing Rafe’s sharp intake of breath upon seeing it, though, warmth pooled in her lower stomach.

The temperature in the room seemed to be  steadily  rising. He took a step closer to her. She could feel his breath as it fanned out over the back of her neck. She caught whiffs of expensive scotch. The smell of him enveloped her, muddling her thoughts. Her heart slammed against her ribs when his knuckles brushed against the knobs of her spine.  Slowly  , he undid the clasp of her bra. Words failed her – failed the _both_ of them! Her arms, feeling encased in lead, dropped. With nothing to support it, her unzipped dress fell around her feet, her bra going with it. She felt the outermost molecules of his lips brush against the top of her spine. They traced a trail of burning fire up the column of her neck to the shell of her ear as his hands rose. Her own scent of honeysuckle filled his nose as his hands cupped her breasts. For a moment, he allowed himself to relish the full weight of them as the hard peaks of her nipples cut into his palms. She breathed his name as her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell forward. That burning trail of his lips became a scorching path down her shoulders.

“ _Rafe_. . .”

“I’ve missed the smell of you, Yael . . .” He murmured against the smooth sweetness of her skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted her so  badly  . His cock felt like concrete against her panty-clad backside. “I miss smelling you on my pillows, my sheets. I miss walking into a room and smelling the scent of you hanging in the air because you had  just  been there . . .” His left hand began  slowly  massaging her breast, thumb rolling the nipple. The other left its twin. It trailed down the smooth flatness of her stomach. It disappeared into the pulsing heat between her thighs. She released a low moan as his fingers traced her slit through the lace of her panties. She was so wet. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so wet for a man.

His words . . . oh, his words were like _sin_ in her ears! “I miss the smell of you on me, baby. Remember the nights when we would fuck all night? I’d wake up, and your sweat and the smell of your sex would be all over me . . . God, Yael, I could _bathe_ in it . . .!”

His words seemed to unleash something long pent-up inside her. Twirling around, she grasped his face and pulled his mouth down to hers. They came together like two crashing squalls. Their kiss hungry, devastating, and keening with sheer need. Her hands attacked his belt while his  deftly  unclasped her garters. Pulling her soaked panties down her legs, his hand dove back between her thighs. His fingers traced her before sinking knuckle deep into her wet heat. She released a guttural groan before growing frustrated with his belt. Batting his hand away from her in irritation, she fell to her knees before him. Free of distractions, she succeeded in  quickly  undoing his belt. She then made  equally  quick work of the button and  fly  to his trousers. One of his hands smoothed through her hair as she freed his cock. Her hands grasped his hips as she took him deep in her mouth. She sucked hard while her tongue curled and lapped around every inch of him. She taste the saltiness of his pre-come on her tongue and moaned. The feel made his breath hitch and his hand tighten in her hair. She wanted to laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so happy to have Rafe’s cock in her mouth.

After a moment of relishing the feel of her mouth on him, Rafe’s hand left her hair and curled around her arm. Helping her to her feet, his mouth fell on hers again in another deep kiss. He could taste himself on her tongue as he backed her towards the bed. His hands traced every dip and curve of her body he had forgotten. The remapping pained him like a shard of glass needling his heart. Never again would he allow himself to be without her for so long. Never again would he allow himself to forget these little places that made her gasp and moan. The ticklish places that made her squirm and giggle against him. Clad in only her black stockings and matching Christian Louboutins, she fell back on the bed. She watched as he spread her legs and closed his mouth over the center of her.

Rafe had always possessed a wicked tongue that could do downright _sinful_ things. His lips closed over her clit. His tongue traced circles around it in _exactly_ the way he remembered her liking. Her hands flew to his hair but his own hands caught them. He brought them down to rest on either side of her. Their fingers entwined as he continued to worship at her alter with his lips and tongue. Her stomach muscles flexed. Her back bowed off the bed. Her hips moved against him. His gaze settled onto her over the plane of her body. He found an intoxicating eroticism in watching her white skin flush. The way she  gently  furrowed her brows. The way her nipples pebbled into hard peaks as he drove her closer and closer to orgasm.

He could tell she was close when her hands tightened around his. They pulled, as if she were begging him to release her. “Rafe . . .!” She breathed, her voice feeling like honey to his ears. “Oh, _God_ , Rafe . . .!”

_“At kol kakh yafa . . .”_

_You’re so beautiful . . ._

_Oh_. _This_ was new!

Her chest heaved. Sweat slicked her skin. As liquid heat pooled and churned in her stomach, she lifted her head off the bed. Their gazes connected. She shook her head, brows furrowing. “Rafe, was that . . .?”

Yiddish. He had spoken _Yiddish_ to her. Rafe, who claimed he could never learn another language to save his life, _just _spoke Yiddish!

His tongue still traced her clit, making that ball of warmth for him in her stomach grow tighter and tighter. She was too caught up in the burgeoning swells of her orgasm to notice he was saying other things to her. How beautiful she looked -- how sexy she was riding his tongue like she was. His name appeared like a mantra on her lips and soon that wicked tongue of his was pushing her over the edge. Her back bowed off the bed and a he tore a strangled moan from her mouth as she came hard on his tongue.

She lay there, dazed, as he wiped his mouth off with his palm before crawling up her body. Her thighs moved to rest on his shoulders. She could feel the head of his cock brushing against her entrance. He slid over her clit, making her shudder. He was still  fully  clothed in his black trousers and white dress shirt. She whined at being unable to feel his skin against hers, but it cut off when he sheathed himself inside her. In one smooth, upward thrust.

The feel of him deep inside her, stretching her out, caused the breath to freeze in her lungs and her head to swim. He stilled for a moment, eyes closed, as if collecting himself. “This is how we made love for the first time, remember?” He murmured, damn near breathless, as his hips took up a slow, shallow pace. She nodded as she bit down on her bottom lip, hips tilting up to meet him – desperate for him to go faster, harder. She could remember it well. He had fucked her like this on her couch after eating her out in the kitchen of her rented flat. He had placed her legs on his shoulders.  He had started with a  torturously  shallow pace before finally taking her hard and fast against the cushions. Up till that point, she had never come so hard with a man in her life. She hadn’t come with a man at all until that point.

She hadn’t been able to feel her legs afterwards. Rafe had fucked her so hard and made her come so hard, she hadn’t been able to walk afterwards.

His pace picked up, growing less shallow, harder. Her nails bit into his shoulders. “Fuck, Yael! _Baby_ . You take my cock so well . . . so _fucking_ well . . .!”

She whimpered. She missed the dirty talk. She missed the feel of him deep inside her. She missed the smell of him – of his sweat and his cologne – as he fucked her.

His lips caught hers. They kissed, tongues meeting and entwining. Slow,  torturously  slow, his hips picked up the pace. By the time he was pounding her hard into the mattress, she had been ready to claw his eyes out. Instead, every push and pull of his cock drug every wanton noise from her mouth. Every noise she had managed to keep bottled up since the last time they slept together.

He tore his mouth away from hers. His forehead rested against hers. He closed his eyes. He was savoring every noise he pulled forth from her as if it was music to his ears. As if they were a balm on his bleeding soul. “ _Fuck_ , Yael. _Ani ohev otkha_ . . .”

_I love you_ . . .

She swallowed hard. “Rafe . . .?”

“Fuck, I want you to come on my cock! You going to do that for me, baby? You going to come as hard as you can for me on my cock?”

“ _Fuck_ , Rafe . . .!”

He nuzzled her, burying his face in her mass of ebony curls before whispering in her ear: “ _Ani ohev otkha. Mea levavot ihiyu meat midai kdei lehakhil et kol ha`ahava sheli elaikh_ , Yael.”

That was when she came. _Hard_. She came hard around his cock with his words thundering in her head like the brass cymbals of the angels. Like Gabriel’s mighty horn felling every wall they had managed to construct between them.

_A hundred hearts would be too few to carry all my love for you, Yael_.

He had learned Yiddish for her. When had he done that? How had she never noticed him _learning_?

She shuddered and convulsed around him. Her walls milked him. The sensation tripped him over into an  equally  as earth-shattering orgasm. His balls tightened as he emptied himself inside her – filling her up with his come. Her limbs tightened around him.

After a moment, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips before  slowly  pulling free of her. He rolled over onto his back beside her as her limbs fell, weightless, to the bed. They lay there for a while.  Both tried to catch their breath while also collecting up the various pieces of themselves they had flung into all four corners of the earth . Yael ran the fingers of her hand through her sweat dampened hair and turned her eyes onto him.

“When did you learn Yiddish, Rafe?”

He returned her gaze, chest still heaving. “After we got married. I figured it would be a late wedding present. You know, something meaningful to show how much I love you. How much I appreciate you. You've sacrificed everything to be with me, Yael. I'm not blind to that. But . . . the language, unfortunately, was much harder to learn than I thought it would be! It took me longer than I wanted. I had managed to grasp the rudiments when you . . . lost Todd. I kept it up afterwards. Even when we were going at each other’s throats. The worse we fought, the harder I studied. I figured if I learned as much of it as I could, I could use it to win you back one day.” He smiled, a tad  lazily . “I wanted to use it to tell you I loved you. I wanted to use it to talk dirty to you in bed.”

She blushed. She remembered him speak the words of her mother tongue to describe how  badly  he wanted her to come on his tongue. She had never been so turned on in her life. She had never felt so much love for him, either.

"This . . . doesn't fix everything." She spoke,  quietly . He stayed silent for a minute before swallowing hard. He nodded.

"I know. But it's a start. Right?"

She nodded. "Yes, Rafe. It's a hell of a start."


End file.
